The Treaty of Treason
by jesswess
Summary: When Panem's districts launch into a turbulent rebellion, 17-year-old Maddox finds himself in the midst of it all, just trying to survive in the wave of anger and violence. But this new rebellion could potentially shake the future of Panem forever and leave Maddox trying to survive in many other ways... because, as it turns out, there are much worse games to play.


Chapter One

It was almost like a game.

The survivors were the players, the casualties cruel reminders. At first, aside from the initial shock and fear, it wasn't too difficult, with an abundance of resources already at their fingertips, but there was always the cloud of worry and change and curiosity hanging in the backs of their minds. The occasional polls and tallies were scrawled where they could be. There were guesses of when they might run out, or who might die first among them, or who might be the last remaining. They could survive the hunger for a long time, and companionship in a new world of no classes and only the will to survive made it all much easier to swallow—

But then there was the desperation. Desperation changed everything. The games came further into play; the disasters had left what remained of the world in bits and pieces, pieces for those left behind to move around to get what they wanted, sometimes successfully and others not so much. In time, the survivors pushed and shoved and scrambled for food and resources to the point of fighting for it. Sometimes killing for it.

It was a resource war when resources were scarce. So, when the realized the state of disarray, when they realized the world that had fallen to incoherent pieces, they came together again.

Everyone, from one side of the continent to the other, gathered together in their respective dwellings. They learned from one another. They used their skills to build tools and improve their living. They passed on correspondence, spread the word of a new promise.

They made a plan, because the game had to end.

Word spread of creating a society where all could share their own skills and put them together to create a world of abundance they had once lost. Put together, they named this promise of abundance The Horn of Plenty.

Then it was called Panem, a nation of peace and prosperity, where the continent was cut into districts depending on their location and the resources available there. These districts were then separated by skill sets, which all put together what they made and did and provided by a certain point in time. More-so, they provided for the Capitol, a protected land that promised to make good use of the Horn of Plenty—a land that was assured to those who worked hard enough to reap its benefits.

But the years passed, and something changed.

Nobody was sure why or how, but it wasn't the same as promised. The districts became more desolate, more detached from the Capitol that once used to serve as a symbol of the promise of Panem as a whole. The Capitol carried through with some promises, certainly; it aimed to protect all that lived in the districts, aimed to connect them. It gave them education. It gave them laws to keep the peace. It gave them security, gave them the ability to know that this was what their life would be, that no disaster or war of hunger might plague them again.

The Capitol provided, but only just—and soon it outgrew all of them. The land became more abundant than ever, the people living there became more complacent and far against any ideas of change. The buildings grew taller and the society developed its own culture, leaving the districts in the dust—leaving them breathing the dust of coal and smoke they once tried to avoid.

_But the Capitol provided_, they were taught to know as children in the tenements of all the districts beneath it. The Capitol was there for them. And so it would always be.

If anything, that never changed and never would. On the official buildings of all the districts while continually touting the same phrase that started it all:

Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.

_Forever._

Today.

"_Today_," a voice droned over the loudspeaker, "_textile workers in Factory One will put in two extra hours due to a recent machine malfunction in Factory Two. Take note that whoever does not report or whoever leaves early will be reprimanded_."

Maddox was just on his way to school when he had to turn around.

It was a constant tug of war between education for the seventeen year old part of him and work for the able-bodied part, both of which his wits relied on to stay sane. Work seemed to win the daily tug of war most of the time, with the announcer slipping in an extra work hour or two just before school was to start.

Luckily, though, extended factory hours were seemingly the only surprising thing in life that he had to face. The entirely gray surroundings of District 8 left little to be surprised about. They were complacent there. They didn't mind things too much there. So he never tried to protest it, knowing that it got food on his and his sister's plates at the end of the day.

The day passed without any further surprises. Maddox went to the same textile factory that his parents had died in. He put in his sweat and blood and dirt into working at the machines, and he walked back home, exhausted and covered in dirt. Sometimes on a good day, he would feel like taking a sprint around the area if he hadn't worked too much, simply because running allowed him to clear his mind—but his eyes could barely stay open, so he headed home.

He liked to observe everything around him when it walked home, even if it wasn't much to see. Despite the grayness and the small feeling of the district, it was actually fairly large. The Capitol-sanctioned buildings had multiple concrete stories, giving the area an interesting skyline if ever you saw it on a hill. The tenements, like the one he lived in, lined along the streets in rows, with the rows occasionally interrupted by the presence of a warehouse or, more likely, some factories, upon which the district thrived. Usually, to enforce the law, some guards were stood in certain more populated areas, like the heart of the town with the deceptively large City Hall, or the neighborhood where Maddox lived not too far from it.

On his way back, he spotted some of his fellow textile workers as well as his classmates and neighbors. Some were too busy working or getting food to pay him attention. One classmate he only occasionally talked to, named Briony, waved absentmindedly at him in passing. He tiredly waved back before automatically wiping at his forehead, where some soot had been left behind according to his reflection in a nearby window.

The sun had just begun to set when he got home. The door creaked in protest, and he was immediately greeted with two voices.

In normal circumstances after his parents' deaths, Maddox would have only lived with his sister. But their neighbor, Lior, had no family of her own in District 8—so the three of them decidedly lived together as a way to cope, knowing that the house would fit them. The authorities didn't seem to mind the arrangement, or else they were entirely oblivious to it.

"Good, you're back," said Lior at the door of the kitchen, a flustered twenty-one year old picture of blonde hair and blue eyes. She moved over to the dinner table—a hulking slab of granite—and set something down on it.

"You say that every time I come back from the factory," said Maddox as he walked in.

"Well, with your parents…" She faltered, as though she hadn't meant to say that, until she shrugged. "You never know."

Maddox did know, but he tried not to think about it. "It's been a few years, Lior. It's okay."

"Anyway." Lior cleared her throat and gestured to the table. "Here, we just got back from the market."

"Where's the other half of 'we'?"

"Over here!" a much younger voice called.

Maddox turned around, only to be attacked by his eleven year old sister, Amity. He grunted in soreness before hugging her back. Then he surprised even himself by using his father's daily line; he only realized recently that the reason for using it was because there wasn't much else to talk about. "How was school?"

Amity plopped onto the concrete bench, which was a little too low from the table; she had to sit on her knees. "Good, I guess. We learned about the resource war."

"How did they write it this time?" Lior mused, exchanging a glance with Maddox, who understood the intonation. "It seems like every year they add in another good thing that the Capitol provides us, with people starting to protest and such."

"I don't know. I didn't really pay attention. But I do know the motto!" Amity sat up as if she was born to recite it, clearing her throat and singing, "Panem today, Panem tomorrow—"

"Panem forever," they chorused.

"Amen," Maddox whispered.

Lior slapped his arm in passing.

Dinner wasn't much, but it was enough. Lior had even managed to scrape by with some apples, which Maddox considered dessert, for it was hard to find something sweeter.

They were in the middle of the meal when the projector above them came to life.

"Oh boy," Lior murmured.

The screen came out of nowhere, appearing on the blank wall that sat opposite the table. There, an unfamiliar yet entirely too familiar scene played out before them—a video of the latest achievements of the districts, with interviews of some people that lived in the Capitol positively raving about them. In time, they got to District 8, showing off some of the latest fashions from Capitol-renowned designers. After touting the brilliance of the new fashion trends, a voice came over the narration.

"Honestly, though, we are in _dire_ need of more excitement in the fashion world," said an outlandishly-dressed woman with rainbow hair.

Lior grumpily tugged at her own bland gray shirt.

"I have a question," said Amity before anyone could stop her. "Why do we have a television, but not much else?"

Her question cut through the narration on screen like a knife. Usually, they would say that they needed to be quiet during Capitol time, but they rendered the scene quiet as it was.

He knew this question would come eventually, but it still caught Maddox off guard. So Lior took it far more gracefully than he ever could.

"They like to show the districts what all our hard work becomes."

"But why can't we wear what we make?"

A pause.

"That's just how it is."

Maddox was sure he heard a sour note in her tone, but she said nothing further, and they carried on with their business.

That's just how it is.

How it always was, since Panem's inception after the disasters and floods. He thought about how the chaotic clamor for resources ultimately offered a chance of harmony, where every district did their share. And when he thought of that, he figured life now was better than it must have been before… but he couldn't help but wonder if there was room for more surprises, room for further change.

He felt that there might be, but he didn't know if it was a good thing or not. So all he—all _they_— could do, for now, was wait and see.

But they waited far too long.


End file.
